


Phantom Pain

by KrokoRobin, Pandir



Category: Collateral (2004)
Genre: Blood, Gen, wound stitching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-22
Updated: 2014-06-22
Packaged: 2018-02-05 18:13:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1827631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KrokoRobin/pseuds/KrokoRobin, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pandir/pseuds/Pandir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU in which Vincent survived the train incident. Months later, coming to LA gets him into trouble again. But he doesn’t have many accomplices left, much to Max’ chagrin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Phantom Pain

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to unit82717 for betaing!

Every now and then, Max still woke with a start. He checked the window even though he knew there would be no one standing down in the dark, wet streets, looking up at him with his right hand hidden behind his back. He turned his head when he was sitting in a café and preferred a seat where he had his back against a wall. Annie had told him to seek professional help. He had just smiled his sheepish smile, shrugged his shoulders with his palms facing towards her and murmured something about the expense.

He didn’t drive at night anymore. Day shift it was. At least he got to spend the evening in peace on his couch.

Being hypnotized by TV for the rest of your life.

Max clenched his teeth and pursed his lips, quickly trying to press the voice out of his head.

It had been a rather uneventful night, his mother had called, complained that he didn’t visit her every night anymore. As if every second night wasn’t enough.

He leaned back and stared at the ceiling of his dimly lit living room. Two-room apartment. Rent was okay. He managed alright. There was no reason to be anxious. He put his glasses aside on the coffee table, on top of the car catalogues, and tried to calm down his still racing heartbeat. He could’ve sworn he had just closed his eyes, when the doorbell made him almost jump out of his skin! A quick glance at his watch. Two in the morning.

The doorbell rang again.

Like a marionette, Max felt himself get up, pick up his glasses and walk over to the door. His heart almost didn’t even miss a horrifying beat when he opened the door and saw Vincent leaning in the doorframe.

The man obviously was not in the condition to stand around and wait. Leaning against something solid, breathing evenly and pressing one hand to his side under the jacket was all that was advisable to do, especially after he’d nearly collapsed on the stairs.

Vincent forced a smile. “Rough night”, he said, which he thought a sufficient explanation for everything. Then, more pressing, to help Max make up his goddamn mind: “Let me in.”

Again, Max felt his body react before the sane part of his mind could change course. He had stepped back before he knew it and steadied the tumbling man before he realized that he wanted him as far away from himself as possible. He put Vincent’s arm around his shoulder, his brain in an addled state of stunned shock.

When he started helping Vincent to the sofa, he ran out of excuses. “What happened?”, Max heard himself say as he put him down, and his voice sounded a lot more concerned than he had intended.

Except for one pained groan when he was lowered down on the couch, Vincent didn’t protest against the support. Not when his head was swimming like this.

He sank into the worn out cushions and groaned again, eyes closed. Don’t lose focus, he reminded himself, and opened them, blinking to get his vision cleared.

”Okay, Max”, he said, and he was aware that his voice was this little bit unsteady, but he tried to make up for it with an assertive tone. “No time for fucking around. I need a first aid kit, and I know you have one, don’t bullshit me on this. Get it.” It was hard holding his head up to command Max around, but he managed a weaker, “And get me something to drink, I’ve lost some blood”, before he let his head sink back on the armrest. Not sure whether Max got the message, he gestured to the blood-soaked left side of his shirt, half-hidden under his jacket. “Time’s ticking. Get to it.”

It’d been a while since Max had seen this much blood, and coincidentally, or not so coincidentally, it had been exactly the same time since he had last seen Vincent.

Bewildered, he stared at the wound before Vincent’s command jolted him back into reality. He scrambled to get the first aid kid, and when he gave it to Vincent, simultaneously realizing and murmuring “I have no idea how to…”

But he was interrupted by the other man yanking the heavy box out of his hands and getting to work to treat his wounds. Of course. Vincent would know how to handle this.

So far, so good, Vincent thought. Now he had to get this wound treated, and then, then he could get some rest and think things over. Right now, there was little time for introspection.

He took a deep breath before he hoisted himself up with one arm on the backrest and quickly got rid of his jacket, with short, precise movements to minimize the stress on the wound. It didn’t take him much longer than usual to open his shirt with his now bloody fingers and he counted that as a good sign. There was blood all over his abdomen, but the wound at his side was small, not two fingers wide, even after his tour through half the city to Max’s place.

Manageable.

Vincent got to work, roughly wiping away the worst with some tissue, teeth gritted, and pressed it to the wound as he turned to Max, still all business.

”Disinfectant. You got some? If not, anything with high percentage will do.” Another glance at the wound, before he looked up at Max, who hadn’t moved yet. “And a needle and thread, as strong as possible”, he ordered and nodded his head in the general direction of the rest of the apartment to indicate he should fucking hurry. Urgency would hopefully continue to keep Max from asking questions.

This time, it took Max a bit longer to follow the order. He couldn’t tear his gaze off the messy wound, and hesitatingly, he said “Shouldn’t… shouldn’t we just call a doctor…?”

”A doctor”, Vincent echoed and stared at him for a moment, just long enough for the other to catch on, but apparently Max was not in the state of mind for quick thinking. “That is a great idea”, he didn’t even bother to lay low on the sarcasm, “Or why don’t you just call the fucking police while you’re at it, save yourself the trouble?”

He shook his head, he had no time for this. His right hand was at the holster he’d thrown off but kept at his side as he grabbed Max by the shoulder. “You’re not going to call anyone”, he said, distinctly. He was not going to repeat himself. “I’m here because you already know about me, and I know enough about you to track you down when I need to. The only other option is: I put two bullets in your head and get this done myself.” When he let go of Max, he sighed. “Now come on, get me that stuff. You wouldn’t let me die here, would you.” He gave him a pointed look. “Not with your stance on murder.”

When it finally sunk in why it wasn’t a good idea to call the ambulance, Max frowned. Yeah. Right.

Without giving him another glance, Max got up and went for the little cupboard behind the mirror in his bathroom, found sanitizer, and it wasn’t before he got out his sewing box (his mother had given it to him after he had spent about two years a single) and put it down on the coffee table in front of Vincent that it started to dawn on him what these things were good for. Instantly, he backed away from the other, just to be on the safe side.

Vincent had positioned himself against the armrest, propped up far enough to access the bleeding hole in his flesh. Once disinfected and properly cleaned, there was only one thing left to do. Pretending not to notice Max keeping his distance, he picked one of the needles, sanitized it, and threaded the needle with skilled fingers.

”You will have to stitch me up”, he said matter-of-factly while tying the knot. “There’s no way around this, Max”, he added when Max shook his head, “We need to close this wound.”

Max once again proved his ability to continue arguing in the face of the inevitable. 

”No, I can’t-“

”Can you mend your trousers?”, Vincent interrupted him brusquely. “Then you can. What’s the big difference? It’s just a bit of blood.” He held the needle up for Max to take it. “Get your ass over here. You don’t want me to slowly bleed to death, right here on your comfortable couch.”

As Max still refused to move, he rolled his head to the side to look at him directly. “Not negotiable, Max, remember?”

Oh yes, and how Max remembered. He shook his head. Then he shook his head again. And finally, with hesitant steps, he approached the other. As Max looked down on Vincent, and Vincent looked up to Max, he knew there was a choice. He could overpower that man, easily so. He had done it before. Vincent’s weapon was right there and he was propped up on his shooting hand. He could call the cops. Who knew how he’d gotten that wound.

Instead, Max got down on one knee before Vincent and received the needle with one trembling hand.

”Calm down”, he heard Vincent murmur.

He hadn’t even noticed that his breath had gotten erratic. He took a moment to steady himself, and as he looked up again, he saw Vincent’s blood-smeared chest heave and sink in what wasn’t exactly composure either.

Max took a deep breath, and said “Maybe you should bite down on something.”

Vincent let out a short breath that might have been a laugh, and settled back, without taking his eyes off of Max. Carefully pressing his teeth together, he concentrated on his breathing to brace himself. He knew his limits, and he’d been through worse.

”Just do it.” The words were too forceful to be teasing, but the issue was pressing and Max had been stalling long enough.

Max had learned to sew his own clothes back when he had been a teenager to avoid asking his mother. Needless to say, he had never even dreamt of sewing human flesh before. He tried not to think about it. About how his sweaty hands slid over the wet surface of Vincent’s skin, about the resistance before the needle pierced through the first protective layer and about the held in gasp hissed through the other’s clenched teeth. He tried to ignore his turning stomach and as he paused for a second to adjust his glasses, he tried to ignore the dark red stain his fingers left on them.

”Still breathing?”, he heard Vincent’s words, but he realized that they couldn’t have come from the man on his couch, shuddering beneath his hands… but from himself.

Vincent didn’t answer immediately; instead he exhaled slowly, moderately. Laying on his back, at the receiving end of a pointy object and at the mercy of Max’ skills was not a position he particularly enjoyed to be in.

”What are you stopping for?” His words were laboured, his palms sweaty against his fingers, but he was still fine, the pain was keeping him sharp. “Keep going.”

The last stitches maybe a bit hastier than they could have been, Max tied a knot, sprayed some cloth with sanitizer and cleaned the now amateurishly sewn wound as carefully as he could.

He fell back on his behind and put the needle aside, one of his soiled hands in his lap, the other still on the couch, no, still on Vincent’s stomach. He didn’t even care. Without thinking about it, he gave the other a slight pat and slouched against the sofa, trying to even his breath.

Vincent, who had just allowed himself to release the tension and recline, jerked at the sudden contact and reflexively grabbed Max’s fingers without even lifting his head again. He had little breath to spare right now.

Maybe he shouldn’t have closed his eyes, he wondered, as tired as he was and with his head spinning like this. He felt hot and feverish.

His fingers searched for the gun, and gripped it tightly. It was comforting, even more so than holding onto Max’s hand, but he didn’t let go of either.

He needed to keep track of Max, keep him where he wanted him.

”I think”, he said, softly, anything else was too bothersome, “I’m going to crash on your couch tonight.”

”Whatever, man…”, Max muttered, and finally got up on his still pretty shaky legs. His head felt kind of fuzzy. He shuffled into the kitchen, like he was in trance, snatched a bottle of water from the fridge, took a few gulps, returned to Vincent, slumped down into the armchair to the side of the sofa which Vincent had declared the head end, and handed him the bottle without thinking about it.

”Took you long enough”, Vincent rasped, as he lifted the bottle to his lips. A few careful sips, and he felt much more like himself again and less like passing out immediately.

He didn’t return the bottle, instead he put it on the floor beside the couch, as he definitely needed it more. His gaze lingered on Max again, shaken yet holding up not too badly. Even though it was the best choice considering the circumstances, it had been a rather desperate decision to come here, and Vincent was very aware of that, but Max had somehow managed not to disappoint.

Still, staying here was a risk, and Max had already proven that he was an unknown variable.

Max in turn felt like dissolving there and then, just so that he wouldn’t have to think about that ridiculous situation he was in, but as much as he had pressed his eyes shut, his body stayed right where it was and Vincent pulled him out of his thoughts.

”Hey”, he said, sitting up a little, careful to not strain the stitched wound too much, and tossed Max some bandages. “Do me a favor, wrap me up.”

Max helped the other sit up a bit so that he could reach around his waist and dress the wound, pressing a patch against the stitches.

Miraculously, his hands had calmed down and were sure and steady all of a sudden. He fixed the bandages with two clips, abruptly realized that his wrists were grazing Vincent’s sides, and jerked back. Vincent hadn’t noticed, the pain kept him busy.

”Oh and… just so we’re clear…”, Max started, then cleared his throat. “That makes us even.”

The corners of Vincent’s mouth twitched into a weak grin as he laid back, hand on his bandaged side. “Had to give you that opportunity.”

He could live with being even, it was better than owing. And now that Max had shown to be cooperative and seemed to consider this as paying his debt, Vincent could actually relax, if only a bit.

”So, what do you do these days?”, he struck a more conversational tone, “Going big in the limousine business?” His eyes wandered across the room, lingering on the catalogues on the table.

Well, Max thought, it would have been too convenient if Vincent had just fallen asleep without annoying him some more.

”Just cause I stitched your ass up doesn’t mean I’m gonna discuss my life choices with you”, he said and was surprised at the sobriety of his own words. He leaned back in his armchair and laid one hand on his forehead. It was still a bit sweaty. His eyelids grew heavier by the second. “So, you in town for some jazz, or…” His voice trailed off into the dimly lit room.

Max should really have known better than to ask that for several reasons, something Vincent would have been quick to point out. Would have, if one of these reasons hadn’t been him being fast asleep. The night had taken its toll on him, and really, what other choice did he have but to trust, or what he called it, take a calculated risk.

Not sure whether still paralyzed from the shock or overwhelmed with fatigue, Max sat there for a while, eyes against the ceiling, listening to Vincent’s deep, even breathing. He couldn’t believe how calm and… blank his mind was. Like stitching up that man had mended something inside himself.

He fell asleep mere moments later.

In the morning, Vincent was gone, together with the blood stains on the couch. Max was aware that the other was an expert in his domain, so he probably knew how to get rid of traces. But hadn’t there been a lot more blood on the couch than a single man could’ve cleansed all while Max had been right next to him, sleeping peacefully without even noticing…?

Max took a look at his own clean hands, then he checked the window.

Maybe he really should seek professional help.


End file.
